It's Okay
by JJ Quinn
Summary: Pain exits to tell us that something is wrong. It was awful, but it had to be. To Clarke, that was okay; she knew that to know what was good she had to know what was bad. What was wronged was always righted. At least, that was what Clarke used to think. And then a bloody Bellamy Blake was dragged through the gates of Arkadia and nothing made sense anymore. (One-Shot)


_Author's Note:  
_ _Here I am, finally contributing to the ship that brought me to this website all those years ago. I've had this story in the workshop for over a year, along with many_ older _, much_ longer _ones (and decidedly shittier ones because I was way younger and sucked at writing), but I finally decided to finish and post this. I'm not very good at one-shots especially when it comes to Clarke and Bellamy because I have been in love with them since I watched episode 2 of the first season of the 100 almost four years ago (_ wow I can't believe it's been so long _), and can never seem to just end it with them. So I'm slightly nervous because they mean a lot to me.  
Anyways, thank you _so _much for reading, and if you like it please leave a review! It'd genuinely mean the absolute world to me! Okay, and here it is. X_

 ** _Warning: there is a major character death in this story_**

* * *

 _ **It's Okay**_

Pain exits to tell us that something is wrong.

Clarke knew that, she always had. She had felt that sensation when the bones of her fingers would cramp after holding a pencil in her hand and sketching for too long, the skin would redden and blister and sting until she could go no further. She had felt that sensation when she had broken her arm after falling from the top of her bunk bed, the crack and snap would've echoed in the room if it weren't overpowered by her piercing scream. She had felt that sensation when her best friend Wells had told her he was in love with her and she had to turn him down, the shattering of both of their hearts simultaneously. She had felt that sensation when her father had been floated for something as simple as wanting to be truthful, the agony of his loss sucked the air from her lungs, tore the tears from her eyes, the cries from her throat, and beat her down until she could no longer hold her self up. Clarke collapsed, completely. Her soul had been ripped from her body, burnt to dust, and she was nothing but a walking corpse of the golden haired girl she used to be.

She had felt pain in these situations and many more in the middle because something was wrong, in some cases so much was wrong, and in a few cases, everything was wrong. That was okay, the pain, because sometimes it's better to know when something isn't right than to be oblivious to what is happening around you. Life was to be lived not survived, and Clarke knew that to know what was good she had to know what was bad, no matter how much it had almost destroyed her, or seemed to, she recovered. And no matter how wrong everything was, no matter the pain that would take over her whole and tear her apart, what was wronged was always righted.

At least, that was what Clarke _used_ to think.

And then… It happened.

The event that made the good all come tumbling down around her, the event that threw a shroud of darkness over her life that had been so bright, the event that told her everything that she had once thought and believed in was a lie. Eyes were made for crying not seeing, mouths were made for screaming not laughing, hearts were made to be broken not to love, lives were made to be destroyed not lived. Nothing mattered because she was nothing, she and everyone she had ever loved were nothing but a blip in an endless time line. Their lives, their loves, their memories were but a small blink and you'll miss it scene compared to the vastness of the universe that engulfed them. Her pain was nothing. She was nothing.

He was nothing.

Yet…Miller brought, no, _dragged_ him in through the front gate, the large mass that she had for a short moment thought was just a dead panther, but then realized from the terror in Nate's eyes and the mane of dark curly hair, that it wasn't a panther, it wasn't just another meal, it was Bellamy. His head was lolling around his shoulders, his lips slighted open, just enough so that a small trickle of blood could fall down his chin. However that was nothing to the scarlet that stained his shredded clothes, that was nothing to the split flesh of his stomach that revealed that inside Bellamy there wasn't goodness or love or happiness, just blood. So much of it. Blood. Everywhere.

She stood and stared.

It was as though the world had stilled, time was no longer moving and instead was hanging, stagnant and heavy, in the air. Bellamy was being moved across the dirt as people came forward to see what Miller was yelling about. But Clarke was still. Tears stung her eyes, and slowly the world that was once so clear around her, so sharp and vivid and cutting, became dull and warped and far away, so far away. Reaching out for it Clarke tried to grab onto anything that she might be able to hold on to, however it slipped between her fingers like water. She was suffocating. It wasn't as though she wasn't trying; she was, _oh_ , she was. Clarke was trying for with all her might in every next second to gasp the oxygen into her lungs but it just wouldn't do. It wouldn't work. Nothing would work. Her throat was clogged by her heart, which just sat there, hard and unforgiving.

Clarke could taste the blood.

And then she was running.

The next few moments were the longest she had ever thought she had been through. They were wound out long and dragging, because all she could see was Bellamy. All she could hear was Bellamy. All she could touch was Bellamy. All she could taste was Bellamy. All she could want was Bellamy.

They knew. They all knew before even she did. She would've been shocked at how the people parted away to allow her to run directly to him, as though they knew, and they did, but she was too focused. The world was black and Bellamy was but a spot of color in her darkness, and that color was red. The ground was hard beneath her feet, and each wheeze of air she took cut through her like a knife, but she kept on running because it was all she could do.

He was finally limp on the floor.

Miller had laid him down there, using up long seconds of time they didn't have to gently arrange him on the ground. She was on her knees by his side, her jeans soaked in his blood in a way that would forever stain her, and she, too, started wasting time they didn't have, time they would never have because the universe wasn't on their side. Clarke looked at the marred flesh on his abdomen, the skin peeled back, jagged and blunt, and his organs pooling out grotesquely. It was all Clarke could do but to not let out a wail of pure agony because she knew… She knew…

And so, she lifted her hands to his now wine colored face, padded her fingers over the freckles that sprinkled over his nose, pushed away the strips of black hair that stuck to his skin, and moved his head to face her.

His eyes opened.

They were heavy lidded, hazy and almost glazed over. They were so distant although so close, and glassy with tears that, even in near death, he wouldn't shed. But they were looking at her, focusing on her and only her. His mouth gaped open and every wheezing breath he took was harsh and sharp and it hurt Clarke's heart.

He reached his hand out. It was trembling and his fingers were curling in on themselves, however Clarke immediately grabbed it, nodding her head vehemently and swallowing thickly and squeezing his hand so tightly she knew he would've hissed if it weren't for the gaping wound the pulled his insides out.

"It's too late."

Bellamy stated it like the full and final truth, but even Clarke could hear the hope in his voice that made bile rise up her throat. Because it was the full and final truth, it was too late. It was too late. It was all too late. She knew. He knew.

"I'll die."

Clarke flinched at those words. She flinched because, despite how true she knew it was, despite knowing that irreparable damage was done to him that couldn't be undone by even the most seasoned doctors Arkadia had to offer, despite knowing that he was gone the minute she set eyes on him as Miller dragged him through the gate, she still had had hope. Fucking hope. Filthy hope. The kind of hope that was useless and had no means. The kind of hope that would always leave just as suddenly as it appeared, and would only last as long as necessary to break you. Because it always did that. It broke you.

He had crushed her hope.

It wasn't his fault, not really. It was her own fault. All of it. For not allowing him to take the extra bullets he had wanted to because they were running low on supplies. For not even offering to join him on the hunting trip because she had to set up the surprise party for Jasper's birthday. For not telling him how important he was for Arkadia and what he could provide. For not telling him how important he was to her as he was the only one she could fully trust. For doing some of the awful things she had done in the past.

For leaving.

For returning.

For staying.

For not telling him she was in love with him earlier.

"We can't- I can't do this without you." Clarke whispered, clutching his hand so tightly that she could feel the life drain out of him. "I _won't_ let you die, Bellamy. I can't-"

"- _Please_."

The desperation in his voice; the desperation that made his lip quiver, eyes well up even more and break and plead. _God_ , Bellamy Blake was begging her. It was a sight that Clarke had never ever wanted to see.

"Tell Octavia I love-"

"- _No_ ," Clarke cut through, her head beginning to shake, wading against the tide of hopelessness, the one that was threatening to drown her. It was futile, she knew, and she still pushed forward. " _No_ , don't you dare say that, don't you dare, Bellamy Blake. You're going to see your sister again."

Because she wouldn't listen to him anymore, _couldn't_ , she lifted her head up, facing the gawps that seared her skin.

Almost instantly, finding him, Clarke looked right into the eyes of Miller, whose tears she ignored, and said, " _why_ are you still here?", her voice hoarse and thin. He opened his mouth but she just screamed, looking around at the crowd that had gathered, voyeurs, _all of them_ , it was obscene; " _SOMEONE GO GET HIM SOME HELP!_ "

Her voice was broken, her face enflamed and eyes stinging as they were flooded, vicious and wild, her stomach lodged in her throat making it hard to breathe, but Clarke stared and stared until a couple of people ran off, dirt dusting in their tracks.

And then she turned her gaze down, soft, to Bellamy. She swallowed at how prominent his freckles were against his paling cheeks, hating how beautiful he looked even now, and pressed his hands onto his wound that all but Clarke's hope knew was too long gone. "Put pressure on it, Bellamy, stop the bleeding. We'll get through this; help is coming."

" _Clarke_."

It startled her. He said her name as he always had. In the same stern and endearing, almost patronizing yet soft, but hard and easy, tense and meaningful and blue and ambiguous and-

"-I love you."

Her heart just _broke_.

"I've loved you for a long time." A tear fell from the corner of his eye and she swept her thumb across his cheekbone to catch it. His left hand, which had been half mindedly touching at his wound, rested over her other hand. It was sticky in blood yet so, so gentle, so tender. Clarke felt a tear trickle down the side of her face, she felt her heart jump up into her throat, she felt all around her staring down at them, yet she couldn't see them anymore. She wouldn't see them. Only Bellamy. He was all that mattered. Because he loved her. "Remember when you… mercy killed Atom?"

She let out a cracking sound; it was all she could do. He sounded so final. _Too_ final.

"I remember thinking, 'wow, I think could fall in love… with this girl'."

He let out a deep, shuddering breath. His hand was still on hers, not as tight as a second ago, no longer rubbing small circles onto her skin trying to comfort her because he was dying, which would've been ridiculous for anyone that wasn't Bellamy. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, the weight of people's grief for him; it was just what he did. But his eyes began to glaze over, and more tears fell from them, more than Clarke could keep up with.

"I've thought that a million more times since…" he let out a bitter laugh that took almost all of his strength to choke out. "It took me dying to realize it's already happened."

Clarke cradled his head to her chest, her hope catching up with her, openly allowing sobs to wrack through her body, "I am in love with you, Bellamy Blake, I am _so_ in love with you and you're in love with me and it hurts so bad, you can't leave me, _please_." the words were blurs from her lips, very real thoughts that her mind hurriedly spilled out because they didn't have time and it was supposed to make a difference, if he knew she loved him.

It didn't.

He somehow already knew.

"You don't need me. We'll always be together."

"I _do_. I need you here more than anything else on Earth Bellamy just- just- _stay, please_."

Bellamy, with every single inch of his strength, raised his violently shaking hand to pull Clarke's forehead to his own. His eyes bore into her own, not piercing in the way she so hoped, but finished, no longer potent with the stars above, but tired, dying. " _Remember_ , we don't get to decide who lives and dies." his voice was barely above a whisper yet she heard it all the same.

"No- you can't- Bellamy, this isn't what was supposed to happen, how you were supposed to find out- You can't do this- I can't do this without you- I _need you-_ It's not _fair_."

"It's okay, it's okay, okay," for the first time his face contorted into a grimace, and his breaths came out shallower, quicker, sharper, his hand fell limp to the bloody flesh of his stomach, his muscles loosened beneath Clarke's hands, "you're _here_."

And he smiled, and she couldn't fucking take it, she really couldn't.

"I'm dying but you finally know… I'm happy and I… love you."

Clarke had to, she _had to_ , and she pressed her lips to his, smothering the sob that would've escaped her lips, tasting the blood, feeling the grin on his lips, the love in his soul, but not _life_. It was when she moved away; on the brink of destruction herself, that she saw the light leave his eyes, and his last words escape the lips that she had only just kissed.

"It's okay, Clarke."

 _But it wasn't_.


End file.
